Campfire Games
by Bea Ryan
Summary: Fluffy smuttiness. Things get out of hand when Charlie and Jason play drinking games by the campfire. This story takes place a few days before the base was blown up by drones.
1. Chapter 1

Miles hadn't wanted to be called General, so a lot of the rebels had taken to referring to him as the Commander. Jason scoffed when the name came up during the game "I Never."

"I've never back talked the Commander," said Nelson, a new recruit.

_He'd have done well in the militia if he thinks refusing to think for himself is something to brag about_ Jason thought to himself as he and Charlie took long pulls on their beers, signifying to the group that they had committed the stated sin. It had been a pretty tame game so far. Jason had hoped he'd learn exactly what Charlie's sexual history was. He didn't much care if she was a virgin or not, but the information would help him better work his game and know how long he might have to wait for payoff. Oh well, he wasn't going to be the one to take it dirty, it would make him look like bad, and while the girl might make him so horny he couldn't see straight, he wasn't completely stupid. Six more people rattled off minor confessions before it was Jason's turn.

Jason said, "I've never milked a rabbit."

Charlie looked at him like he was an idiot. He'd hoped for laughter, she had a great laugh, but whatever. She was talking to him. He could work with this. She said, "No one has ever milked a rabbit."

"They're mammals," he insisted. "Baby rabbits have milked them. I bet you my shirt that someone has tried to milk a rabbit."

Charlie just laughed. "I would take that bet if there were any way to ever prove a winner."

Across the campfire, Nelson took the bait. "Then you'd owe him a shirt. There was a a guy in my hometown who tried. The rabbit bit him. It got infected." Jason nodded discretely to acknowledge the backup and decided they guy wasn't such a weasel after all. Nelson went quiet, leaving it to Jason to collect his winnings.

"You heard the man, Charlie. You owe me a shirt. Pay up."

"And what will you do with it? It's not like it's going to fit you."

_Breathe the scent of you, wrap it around a pillow and lick it, jerk off into it_, he thought. Aloud he said, "I will run through the camp waving it like a victory flag."

"Naked," said Mission quietly. "I dare you."

He didn't know Mission well, in fact he couldn't even remember her first name, but he swore to learn it soon and to keep an eye on her in the future. The girl was wily and he wasn't certain what he was supposed to do from here. He wasn't shy and the thought of getting Charlie shirtless sent enough heat below his belt line that he didn't worry he'd make a poor showing if he did run naked. The problem was that girls never really seemed to enjoy the sight of hanging brain and flopping meat. He knew he had a great ass though, he had even caught Charlie checking it out once, and decided not to miss an opportunity to flex it for her.

He turned to Charlie and cranked up his smile. "Your shirt please."

He couldn't read her face at all, but her hands moved to her buttons and that told him all he really wanted to know. She was going to take it off. She slowly worked her way down, opening it just a little more with each push of a button through a hole and trailing her fingers along her skin as she went. When she finally shrugged it off she was left with nothing but a blue, lace edged bra. She didn't even try to hide behind her hair or any of that other shy nonsense, Jason noted. She was just hanging out in her bra, blue islands of temptation floating in a sea of creamy skin.

"Your prize," she said, holding it out to him "Now get ready for your victory lap."

Jason let her hold her blouse a moment longer, leaving his hands free to peel off his own shirt slowly. He'd heard older guys make reference to flexing for girls as "taking them to the gun show" and he made sure he put on a show for her, rippling so much he was afraid he'd overdone it and wound up looking like he was having a seizure. When she didn't look away or call for a medic he figured he'd done a decent job of it. He'd never worked as hard for a girl as he had to work for Charlie. Maybe that was why he liked her so much.

"Shirtless isn't naked," Mission piped up.

Jason glared at her. He'd figured out how to make this situation work for him and he didn't need help from girls he didn't want to bed as he did it. He dropped to one knee in front of Charlie and slowly untied the laces on his boot. As soon as he took it off he made a show of tossing the boot and sock across the fire and into the woods. He wanted it to look casual and sexy, but he also wanted to get the funky boot smell away. Girls didn't tend to see stanky feet as a sign of virility. Charlie's eyes were fixed on him as he repeated the elaborate fingerwork on the laces of the other boot, disposing of that one as well.

He stood before her in just his jeans and held out his hand. "Your shirt please."

She stared at him with her lips parted. He hoped it was lust her eyes but he'd settle for amazement or shock. Humor wasn't really what he was going for but he knew the next part would probably get a giggle. Maybe if he played it right she'd just think it was hot.

"But you're still wearing pants," she protested.

"If you don't like my methods you're welcome to come take them off of me yourself."

Charlie backed down and held out her shirt. Jason took it and tied it around his waist. He'd hoped it would look more like a loin cloth, something wild and dangerous with a hint of the jungle like he'd seen in a book when he was a kid, but instead the small rectangle of well worn fabric looked like an apron. Damn. Nothing to do about it now but get on with it and let her enjoy the sight of his butt.

"You said you were going to run through the camp flying it like a flag," Mission protested.

"Gimme a second," Jason glared at the girl. Jeez, it was like she thought this had something to do with her. Didn't she know that this was all for Charlie and the rest of them just happened to be there to watch?

He reached behind the small patch of fabric now hanging from his waist and unbuttoned his jeans as dramatically as he could. As he undid the zipper he ran his nail along it, increasing the sound. Charlie's focus was entirely on him, a small smile working the corners of her generous mouth. He shimmied just a little bit to move the pants down his hips and his erection escaped its denim prison. Jason sighed in relief. He'd been straining against the fabric and the freedom of pantslessness was a sharp improvement over the chafing confines of his Levis.

He tried to read Charlie's eyes but couldn't tell what she was feeling. What did it matter anyway? He was naked, she was shirtless, he would find a way to put those things together and make this night awesome.

"You are supposed to be naked and running with a flag," Mission spat.

"Shut up already! It's on my pole. It's a damn flag." He turned back to Charlie, hoping the mood wasn't shot but he could tell it was. Freaking Mission. He hoped she got picked for Mile's next operation. That guy was hell on a squadron.

Jason wracked his brain, trying to figure out how to reclaim the mood and coming up short.

"Just take your victory lap, dude," Nelson advised.

Unable to think of a better plan, Jason set off for his run through the base. It was a small facility and there was a well worn ½ mile track around the perimeter. He thought about taking that but decided against it. If the point was to show off then Charlie needed to be able to see him. He ran from one spot of light to the next, through the center courtyard of the base. First the training room then to the dining area. He briefly rang the dinner bell in front of the chow hall, earning a laugh from the crew around the fire but also drawing attention from others who weren't in on the joke. As he rounded the corner of the planning office he ran into Miles.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Miles asked, disheveled as always and slightly drunker than usual.

Jason stopped running and stood at parade rest with his feet apart and his back rigid. Miles could be a bit of an ass but if they both wrapped their interactions with a layer of formality and custom they tended to get along well enough. When they tried to be regular people together it often went badly. They were too alike, Jason just getting ready to make mistakes Miles had perfected over the years. "Just maintaining my honor, Sir There was a bet followed by a dare," Jason explained.

Miles wobbled briefly before responding. "Carry on then."

Jason ran around the remainder of the building, back through the courtyard and over to his buddies by the fire.

"You seemed to slow down on that last lap," Charlie said.

"Worried about me?" he asked.

"I never worry about you," she said. Then she finished her beer.

A/N: They've given us a bit of a blank slate with Jason and I wanted to play with that. I don't think the lack of college necessarily means Jason couldn't be a horny college boy. His primary trait so far is that he's not as grown up as he thinks he is or as independent as he wants to be. I hope you like Frat!Jason. He's not a bad guy, just desperately horny and far less suave than he pretends to be.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm new to fan fiction and don't really understand the favorites and follows thing. Please give me a couple of hints. What do you like? Anything with these characters? Smuttiness? Horny Jason? Humor? I can't guarantee I can make my muse behave but it would help if I could give her a few suggestions. This is un-beta'd because I haven't really figured out yet how that works. Feedback is welcome.

Jason ran his bare foot over the log where he'd been sitting by the fire, inspecting it for splinters and rough patches. It might be fun to hang out next to Charlie with nothing between the two of them except her shirt in his lap and a little night air, but a splinter in the wrong spot could ruin a guy for days. Sadly he'd learned that lesson first hand. He didn't think he had any time on horseback coming soon, but you never could tell. Reluctantly he admitted it wasn't worth the risk. He decided to leave his shirt and boots off though. His shirt stayed off because he liked the way Charlie looked at him without it. The boots would only be in the way if he later needed his jeans off in a hurry. A man could dream.

"So, do I get my shirt back?" Charlie asked.

Jason fought down the urge to scream, "Hell no, " and follow it up with a monologue on the awesomeness of her boobs. He knew girls always claimed not to like anyone paying attention to their chests. Jason didn't understand the fuss. He worked out hard so his body would draw attention. He didn't mind girl staring and if they wanted to touch that was great, but for some stupid reason he had to pretend he didn't notice that Charlie had gorgeous sweater pets.

Aloud he said, "I don't think you want it right now. I got a little sweaty on my run. I'll wash it and get it back to you." He hoped he sounded considerate.

As he pulled on his jeans he "accidentally" tucked her shirt inside his pants. He didn't have underwear on today and the softness of the well worn cotton against him instead of the stiff, rough denim was a welcome surprise. He wondered if her skin would be just as soft.

Fresh beers were passed around the circle and Nelson resumed the game with, "I've never had a conversation with Miles Matheson while mostly naked."

Jason laughed and took a drink. _If Nora were here someone else might drink_, he thought, _but right here and now this one is all mine_. Then from the corner of his eye he caught Charlie sneaking a small sip.

"What?" he shrieked, sounding more like a frightened old lady than he cared to admit.

"I was three. I was playing mermaid. I had a scarf around my legs for a tail, a red wig, and nothing else. There used to be a picture."

Jason let his imagination work over the image of adult Charlie in the mermaid outfit and decided to file that away for future use. Charlie as a redhead was a variation he hadn't previously considered and he'd heard redheads were wild.

The game picked up its pace from there as the confessions became both more intimate and more bold. Jason, a veteran of the Philly bar scene and the militia, would have passed out quickly if he drank as often as he should, but he didn't want to scare Charlie who seemed to have had a pretty boring life. Clearly the farm boys in her village had been stupid or impotent to have let her miss out on so much. He decided it didn't really count as a threesome if one person just watched and so he didn't drink during that challenge. He also decided that a bar bathroom wasn't public if the door was closed and that weed didn't count for any of the questions about drugs.

It was Mission's turn again and Jason looked across the fire warily. She was the one who'd dared him to run naked, and on her last turn she'd said, "I've never dreamed about having sex with anyone here." Given the length and variety of his dreams about Charlie, if honesty by volume had been required Jason could have drained every drop of liquor in the camp and sucked the whiskey out of Miles' veins and still not told the whole truth. Fortunately the rules of the game let him get by with a casual sip. Several others drank too, including Charlie.

This time Mission paused before speaking. The group waited and tension built. Sadness played across her face and he expected something solemn to follow, maybe something about her first kill or a dead relative. When she finally spoke she said, "I've never tasted man meat."

Jason set his beer on the ground and hid his face in his hands to keep from laughing aloud. She sounded so sad about the whole thing. Didn't the girl realize there were a good dozen guys in camp who would help her out with that if it bothered her so much? He snuck a glance at Charlie and noticed that she had taken a drink.

_That's OK, baby, _he thought. _I don't have to be your first but I'd really like to be next. _ He wondered how much experience she had and hoped it was enough that she knew about teeth. Nothing killed the mood like a sharp thing in a soft place gone hard.

Nelson taunted him from the other side of the circle, interrupting his daydream about Charlie's big, enthusiastic mouth. "Neville, pick that beer up and start drinking. You're from Philly and you spent time in the militia. You know you know the meat."

Jason fired back, "I've done some stuff, bro, but cock gobbling ain't on my list."

He knew he shouldn't have said it, at least not that way, as soon as the words were out. The rebels liked to be considered soldiers but they talked like Sunday school teachers and almost half of them were girls. It was nothing like the militia and vocabulary was one area where he blew it all the time. It was one of the reasons he didn't talk much. A quick glace at Charlie confirmed his fears. Damn. He quickly started backing away from his words. "Not that there's anything wrong with it. I'm a big fan, a huge fan, of um..." What would a girl call it? "Oral pleasure."

Charlie stared at him in stunned silence before breaking into hysterical laughter. She leaned so hard to the side she fell off the log she'd been sitting on but the sudden hard landing did nothing to slow her fit of giggles. Her laughter broke loose the cackles and chuckles of others, disrupting whatever weird spell had fallen over the group before Nelson spoke. Howls of laughter up rose up from the group around the fire.

While the rest of them bubbled with glee, Jason's feelings of awkwardness grew. He liked being the focus of the group when he looked cool but this was different. This was people laughing at him. So he he talked like a soldier, so what. It was their fault for being prudes, not his fault for knowing how to be a man. The drunk part of his brain wanted to start a fight, to show them he wasn't a man to be messed with, but Charlie had laughed first and punching her wasn't an option.

Swinging around to face Nelson, the man who had made the accusation, he said, "I don't care what you want to tell yourself, farm boy, but the militia is full of trained soldiers. Claiming they're poofters just makes you an idiot. It doesn't make them any less likely to kill your slow ass."

Charlie had regained enough control of herself to ask, "What's a poofter?"

"Never mind."

"Does it mean cannibal in general or does it mean they eat a specific part or something?" Charlie asked. The laughter had left her as quickly as it came and the clouds had rolled into her eyes.

Jason stared at her for a moment, grasping for an answer and coming up blank. "Charlie, I think one of us is really drunk because this conversation isn't making any sense."

She pushed on. "Everybody knows the stories about how they fought off starvation in the cities after the blackout but are there rules about what part of another person you should eat first? Is the um... cock... a delicacy or something?"

_Yes it is! Have a taste! _screamed his libido inside his head. Fortunately his pride was even louder. _They're talking about cannibalism. They all know with your history that you've done it so be cool. _

Aloud he said, "It's not really the part that matters. It's how you cook it. Just like with any animal you want to cook the stringy stuff slow and low. Maybe braise it. With herbs if you've got them. The fattier pieces are better if you render them a little." He hoped that sounded worldly and not disgusting. Cannibalism had been part of his reality for a while. It wasn't something you were supposed to talk about, but if he couldn't find a good way out of this conversation he hoped he could make himself look good during it.

"How much human meat have you eaten?"

"I never ask what I'm eating. If I got it myself then I know. If I didn't, then I don't want to know. The odds that it's a good answer are usually pretty low. I mean, would you rather eat a rapist or a puppy?"

He had the group's attention now, in a good way. They didn't seem to be judging him, just fascinated by this option they'd never considered. He wondered if he could really convince them that meat was just meat.

He continued, "Given the choice between starvation and eating what's in front of you, you eat. Choosing death is just dumb. It's not like you hunted a person just to eat them but once they're dead how is burying them for the wolves to dig up smarter than living?"

"I heard that in the first couple of years after the blackout they did hunt people for meat in the cities," Mission said.

Jason had heard that too. He suspected it was true, but he decided there was no up side to admitting that. "Why would anyone do that when dead people were so easy to come by? If one guy shoots another for a can of corn and then leaves the body behind he's abandoning 150 pounds of meat. You couldn't walk to the water for river without passing a fresh body most days. The trick is in how you butcher the carcass. You've got to break it down quickly so it just looks like meat instead of a human."

Jason had no idea what the trick was, if there even was one. He'd been a child during the worst of the blackout. Monroe had arrived with rations when he was nine. The only rule was not to ask what it was or where it had come from. He knew to chew well when possible or swallow it like pills if it was too stringy. Starvation was painful and slow. Disgust passed quickly.

"Do the militia really eat people? Still?" Charlie asked.

Jason knew they had during the battles for territory. He'd learned it during his military history course in training. It had happened first at Trenton, when their supply lines were cut. It had been Miles' idea. They'd roasted the enemies they'd slain in plain view of the remaining combatants. It had freaked out the other side and they'd run. Six weeks of battle had ended with a barbecue.

He personally seen guys turn into "tax vampires." There were still some areas in the Appalachian mountains run by gangs or extended family tribes. Tax collection there could mean a shoot out and light units, like his had been, weren't supplied for extended battle. Reinforcements and food wouldn't be coming and retreat meant execution when you got home. Most of the time they just double taxed the next town so they'd have the right amount of stuff when they got back to Philadelphia, but every so often some warlord would tweak his father's pride and they'd end up in a drawn out fight. When the bullets ran out and hand to hand combat took over some guys fought with everything they had, including teeth. A bite or two as you went for the win was just something that happened but sometimes a fight turned into a feast. Wild-eyed teenagers with ravenous, bloody mouths were usually put down quickly. If they could be reliably aimed toward the enemy it might be different but once the hunger took over they were a threat to anyone in the area.

After the battle, when they had won since quitting wasn't an option, they ate whatever they could find before they moved on. The other side had usually drained their food reserves during the fight and the only thing left was bodies. They always ate their deceased enemies first but if logistics demanded more then decisions were made. He was thankful he'd left the militia as a lieutenant and his opinion had never been asked.

He looked into Charlie's eyes and knew he couldn't tell her the truth. He didn't want her to know that the world was a terrible place and he'd done what was necessary to survive in it. He didn't want to lie to her either. He just wanted out of this conversation.

"Do the militia eat people?" he repeated, intentionally putting a slight edge in his voice.

She took a short, sharp breath as she heard his tone. "That's what I asked."

With a slow smile, he growled and pounced, knocking her off her log and pinning her to the ground. He made a dramatic show of howling like a wolf before attacking her neck with his mouth, taking gentle nips and licks and growling in her ear.

She laughed and tried to buck him off, but once he felt her hips roll beneath him he decided to play ravenous beast for as long as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This story has been moved up to M now. If you prefer not to read above T, please don't read this chapter. Thank you!

Jason's tackle knocked Charlie sideways off the log where she had been sitting and flat onto her back in the dirt. He did manage to catch is weight on his forearms to avoid completely crushing her, but his bare chest was pressed against her bra clad one and his knee was wedged firmly between her thighs.

Her beer clouded brain tried to develop an insult and demand that he get off of her but before she could find the words he threw back his head and howled much to the delight of the others around the fire.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked.

"I'm a man eating werewolf," he answered with a drunken, lopsided grin.

"I'm not a man."

"So much the better," he said. He buried his face in her neck and made ridiculous snacking sounds, playing it up to entertain the crowd. The group laughed at the show and Charlie laughed along with them, determined to be a good sport and not entirely opposed to having him so near to her and so attentive. As the show progressed his silly slurps became sensual nibbles and Charlie admitted, if only to herself, that his technique wasn't bad at all.

He gently bit her earlobe before running his tongue along the outer ridge of her ear. When she purred and arched into him in response, he moved his hand to her hip, curving her body into his and joining them more snugly together. He brought her leg up higher on his and tested the tight new position with a slow grind of his hips and a gentle bite on her shoulder.

"Get a room," someone called from the other side of the fire but Charlie didn't register the words. She was lost is a sea of sensations and beer. _I should have done this ages ago _was her only coherent thought. The rest was motion, heat, touch, pressure and need as his hands roamed her. He seemed to be everywhere at once, a blanket of feeling.

She wondered if he would ever get around to kissing her lips, but his mouth continued to lavish attention on her neck, ears, collarbone and cheeks. Yet again he veered away just as it seemed he was coming in for a real kiss, eliciting a moan of frustration from her. _ He's teasing me _she realized and immediately decided that she didn't have the patience it. She gently scratched her nails from the waist of his jeans all the way up his strong back and into his hair, grabbing his head with both hands. She pulled him down for a full, hot, impatient kiss. With her lips she ordered him to stop the teasing and put up or shut up. His body responded to her touch, letting her know it only got better from here.

Desire coiled within her, twisting like a rope at her core. Her back arched off the ground as she tried to press closer to him, seeking friction as their sweat slicked bodies slid against each other. He groaned and pressed into her, stroking her desire but unable to get any closer with the limits their clothes imposed.

"Get a room!" came the distant call again but it was all background noise to the roar in Charlie's head. She felt her breath coming quickly and heard the pounding of her own heart but most to of all she was aware of Jason. Hard muscle, tan skin, brown eyes, calluses, stubble. He was like an exotic land ready to be explored, and he offered so much in the cultural exchange.

As he ran his left hand down Charlie's side, his right lost it's position and slid across the loose dirt. He landed heavily on Charlie, crushing her formerly arched back into the dirt and knocking the wind out of her.

"Damn," he cursed, quickly lifting his weight off of her while keeping her gently pinned beneath him, his hard chest aligned with her softer one. "Are you OK?"

Charlie was dimly aware of laughter in the background, but her focus was on his eyes. She'd never really taken the time to look into them. She knew they followed her as she moved around camp, knew they had sufficiently keen vision to keep her safe, but somehow she'd never quite seen the person behind them. How had she managed to overlook warm, gentle Jason for so long? His worry showed in his eyes and instead of the attention annoying her, as it usually did, she felt wrapped in the safety of his protection. A smile spread over her face as finally saw everything he offered. She no longer felt smothered by his concern but appreciative of his attention to her needs.

"Charlie? Are you with me?" he asked, dragging her back to the moment. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," she said. "But there's a rock in my back."

"I can fix that," he said with a grin. He scooped her up and rocked them both backward with a single fluid motion. When they stopped moving he was sitting on the ground and she was sitting astride him with her legs on either side of his hips. "Better?" he asked, still smiling. His hands gently brushed the dirt from her back, moving up to tangle in her hair and pull her toward him in a kiss that quickly caught fire.

Charlie appreciated the possibilities of their new positions and began to move, seeking the rhythmic friction she needed. She quickly decided it was hopeless. The thick jeans that were so good against briars and stopped rocks from peeling the skin off of her as she slid in the dirt in a fight now stopped her from making enough contact. She could build desire into a mountain but she'd never be able to crest it like this.

She shifted, moving the seam of her pants to a slightly more advantageous position and ground against Jason's evident desire, hoping it would be enough but expecting it to fall short. Jason let out a low moan and took hold of her hips, moving her against him even more firmly.

"Like that?" she whispered to him, flicking her tongue out for a quick taste of his salty skin.

"Yeah," he said, the word floating on an exhaled whisper.

His hands moved up her bare back, finding the clasp of her bra and popping it free. The cool night air hit her nipples like ice. The alcohol seemed to evaporate from her previously clouded brain and the world slammed back into focus. She was topless and riding Jason's lap by the campfire in front of their strike team from this afternoon. Six people, some friends but most practically strangers, were watching her writhe against him. Embarrassment crashed into anger as someone called yet again, "Get a room!"

Jason must have noticed up the change in her demeanor because he rehooked her bra while wrapping his arms around her protectively, shielding her from the group as much as possible.

"Just play it cool," he whispered. He stared into her eyes and gave her a smile that said it would all be OK. His calm manner soothed Charlie's battered dignity.

Carefully he helped her up from the ground. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and kissed her gently on the forehead, pulling her in close. His eyes were full of concern and something else Charlie couldn't quite identify. He turned to the group with a Cheshire cat smile, so different from the nurturing one he'd just given her, and said, "Good night everyone," before leading her away into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for all the likes, follows and comments. Knowing that the story is working for other people keeps me writing.

Jason's brain fought with his pants for control of the situation. Charlie was freaked out and a big part of him cared about that. He wanted her to be happy and to see him as a source of happiness. Leading her into public embarrassment was a mistake and he kicked himself for letting the situation get out of control. One hot, shameful make out session wouldn't lead to anything long term and what he'd already had wasn't going to be enough. A small but very loud part of his brain cheered, "Second base! Run for home!" It wasn't fake second either where you "accidentally" brushed a little side boob. This was full second, taking hard strides towards third, and she'd been into it right up until she snapped out of it. He wasn't going give up on the evening now. Jason replayed it all in his head and tried to figure out how to get back on track.

Charlie interrupted his reverie. "Where are we going?" she asked.

Jason didn't have a good answer, but he knew he needed a quick one. He scanned their immediate area for a workable solution. They had just passed the barracks. Like every other building in the compound it had once been used for storage. It had been selected as the barracks simply because it didn't leak or smell too badly and had already been divided into ten rooms each of which now held eight cots. It was cold at night, hot during the day, and sound carried brutally through it. Most important to Jason at the moment, there was nothing remotely resembling privacy available there. He eliminated it from the options.

Just ahead and to the right was the gym. Although it had the benefit of a few mats on the floor where they practiced hand to hand combat, it was one large room and anything they did would be on full display if anyone else entered the building. The bulk of the camp's pumped fresh water was stored here and the odds that someone would get thirsty seemed high. Having already put on one show with a premature ending, Jason discarded the gym. The stale sweat smell of the place would have been a mood killer anyway.

The only other building in their area was the stable. The half-collapsed portion of the former warehouse had been propped up to keep it from dragging down the rest of the building and then blocked off. Wooden shipping pallets had been stood upright on their sides and nailed together to create pens for the horses. The small tack room, he guessed it used to be the warehouse manager's office, was slightly elevated with a large window overlooking the facility. It smelled of oiled leather mixed with the more pungent odors from the horses below. It wasn't great, but it was the best option he could see. Hopefully no one would need to go for a quick ride at this time of night.

He looked down at Charlie, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as she pressed against his side, and wondered if he shouldn't just walk her to her room and put her to bed. She looked regretful and the pinching around her eyes suggested a hangover was well on its way. She definitely did not look ready to be seduced in a borrowed office twenty feet from a manure pile.

Damn.

He said, "I can drop you off at your room if you'd like, but you really should drink some water first."

"I didn't think I'd had that much to drink," she said with a weak smile.

Internally he recalibrated her words and high-fived himself. She'd been sober enough and she wanted him.

"There are some water jugs in the tack room," he said, trying to subtly pull her along as he moved forward.

"Jason, I..."

He dove in for a kiss. He knew it wasn't the smoothest move but she'd been about to shut him down and he wasn't going out without a fight. All that militia training was good for something after all. Never quit. Never surrender.

He gently wrapped one arm low around her waist, careful not to aggressively grab at her curves or crush her body into his despite a fierce desire to do both. He wound the other in her hair, giving it a slight tug. He thought she'd seemed to like that when he'd done it before. Maybe he was remembering it wrong. He remembered the heat, the grinds, the moans, but he couldn't for the life of him be sure what it was that had set them both on fire. He knew he was overthinking it and told his brain to shut up and let his body lead.

Charlie seemed to feel the change in him, in his kiss, and she melted into him with a purr. Her left hand reached up to caress his face, stroking the planes and angles while pulling him in closer. Her right hand slid around his side and up his back, grasping his shoulder so she could pull him down and stretch herself up. The full length of her body melded against his, soft breasts to hard chest, thigh to thigh. Her tongue pushed into his mouth, hot and eager. Her nibble on his lower lip was just a shade too firm and brought him sufficiently to his senses to realize they were out in the open again.

He calculated about seventy yards to the stable door, roughly 100 steps. He estimated that they could kiss-stumble-walk thirty paces before they'd have to pick a single activity and he wasn't confident that she'd see that a mad dash to a room full of horse sweat soaked leather was the best option.

Charlie made the decision for him. "Sit," she ordered, pointing to the two concrete steps leading up to the backdoor of the gym. It was only twenty paces off the alley, but the moonlight on the building cast a shadow over the spot. An overgrown hedge further concealed the location. _She's hot and a tactical genius_, Jason thought. Best of all, she'd asked for it. Jason sat.

She stood an arm's length away and stared at him, seemingly assessing the situation. Jason tried to look nonchalant yet interested, but the ache in his pants had moved from desire towards pain. He vaguely remembered jokes from before the blackout that if your erection lasted more than four hours to see a doctor and he wondered how anyone made it that long without weeping. Maybe they didn't. He calculated his at no more than 45 minutes and knew that if Charlie didn't resolve the situation soon he'd have to take matters into his own hands. His gaze fell to her breasts and he realized he still hadn't really touched them. She looked hot wearing the bra and his jacket but he felt sure she'd look better naked.

Charlie laughed. It was a low, seductive sound full of heat but not without humor. "My eyes are up here."

"It's too much blue," he said. "Blue eyes. Blue bra. I'm getting confused."

He'd wrapped his jacket around her shoulders when they'd left the fire but she hadn't put her arms in the sleeves. Now she draped it more carefully, exposing even less, before she reached behind herself and unhooked her bra. He watched, enthralled, as she performed her magic trick, freeing her breasts without removing his jacket or exposing a nipple. She slipped her arms into the leather sleeves before grabbing the zippered center sides of the coat to expose a tantalizing center strip of her body and the gentle curve of her breasts. It still concealed too much for Jason's taste.

"Is this less distracting?" she asked.

"You have my complete attention," he replied.

She stood in front of him and seemed lost, unsure how to lead now that she'd taken charge.

"You're too far away," he said.

She obliged and came closer. She stood on the lower step while he sat on the upper one. His lips were level with her navel and he hooked two fingers behind the button of her low slung jeans to pull her forward. She gasped as he brushed against he soft, private curls.

"Miles!" exclaimed Charlie.

Jason's mind only had time for a brief bout of horror before the door opening door slammed into his elbow and knocked his hand free of Charlie's pants.

"What are you two doing here?" Miles growled.

Jason rubbed his bruised funny bone and didn't bother to reply. Miles was a lot of things but stupid wasn't one of them. Lying wasn't worth the breath. Charlie didn't seem to get the memo.

"Just heading in for a little combat training," she said, trying to smile innocently while holding the jacket closed.

"He can play with his own sword," Miles said. "I'm walking you to your room. Now."

Miles stalked off leaving Charlie to scurry after him. Jason scooped her bra off the ground and stuffed it in a pocket. Now he had the top half of her outfit. He wondered how long it would take to make his way into the bottom half. He decided to scope out the potential of the tack room so he'd be better prepared next time. Never quit. Never surrender.


	5. Chapter 5

Miles stalked briskly past the barracks door, and Charlie gladly let him go. She need time to process the evening's events. He mind and heart were tangled. Too much had shifted too quickly. She wasn't sure how she felt about Jason now, but she knew she wasn't happy with her own behavior. The lusty, wanton side of herself was a new discovery and one that she'd rather not have uncovered, literally and figuratively, in front of so many spectators. She wanted to blame it all on the alcohol but she knew there was more to it and she didn't want to throw out the good parts of the evening with the bad. Her new perspective on Jason seemed like it was almost certainly a good part, even if she didn't quite yet know what she thought of him or what to do about it.

Miles turned back towards her when he heard the squeak of the barracks door. "We aren't done. Follow me," he ordered.

"Not now Miles."

"We can have this conversation out here or in my office. You pick. It seems to be a night for public displays so if you want everything out in the open it doesn't get much more open than right in the middle of the damn camp."

Charlie followed him to his office.

Miles picked up the bottle of scotch, paused, and put it back down without pouring a drink. Managing teen lust was outside the spectrum of things he needed alcohol to justify and he didn't want Charlie's thoughts about his drinking clouding the message.

"You need to stay away from Jason," Miles said.

"How can I stay away from him when you always send him out on patrol with me?" Charlie answered with a tight smile.

"That's not what I mean and you know it. Look, Charlie, I get it. He looks OK, bathes regularly, and he's a decent shot. That makes him seem like the best catch close to your age on the base. He's still not a good choice for a relationship. Long term, short term or very short term, don't get involved with him."

"Why?" she demanded. "If you expect me to follow this order you'll have to explain it."

"I don't trust him."

"That's ridiculous. You stand next to him while he's firing a machine gun all the time. Of course you trust him."

"No. I don't trust him; I use him. He knows how to take an order, take a punch, and take a life. Those are all skills I need my people to have and there aren't nearly enough of you who can do all three. Tom beat those abilities into him and just like a beaten dog one day something is going to set him off and he's going to snap. I don't want you to be the one who gets mauled."

"You're wrong. And cruel. His father is brutal but that has nothing to do with Jason."

"Tom has pounded Jason into the man he is today. What do you even know about him, Charlie? He's been around for months now. You've spent weeks at a time on the road with him. Tell me one fun fact about him that I don't already know. Who was his best friend before he abandoned the militia? If he doesn't have any friends then why the hell not? Does he have a hobby? What does he do when he's not stalking you?"

"He doesn't stalk me."

"He stalks you."

"Fine, he's a little stalker-y. He's protective. You use that, don't you? You send him with me on patrol because you know he'll watch out for me. Now you claim he's going to turn on me. Pick a position! He's either my protector-hero or he's an abused pet. He can't be both."

"He IS both, Charlie. You were nice to him when you met, weren't you? Not too nice. Not too friendly. Not so much that it threw him off, but you gave him the emotional equivalent of a bowl of puppy chow. You threw out some smiles and laughs and no one offered to kick his ass for a couple of days. The kid probably thought he was in heaven. And he's been devoted to you ever since."

"I wasn't that nice to him. I cuffed him to a pole!"

"Do you think Tom hasn't done worse? Treating him like dirt and resisting his attempts to please you puts you squarely in his comfort zone."

"I don't treat him like dirt!" Charlie protested.

"You haven't treated him like you take him seriously. When I stumbled on you two tonight, it seemed serious. You're changing the rules on him. You're startling the beaten dog, and he's going to bite you."

"Stop calling him a beaten dog!"

Miles grabbed the scotch and poured three fingers worth into the metal tumbler. He'd been wrong. He did need a drink for this. He also needed a pause to reset the conversation and this gave him an excuse. He watched Charlie over the rim of his cup as he took a long sip. He set it down and resigned himself to a new tactic. He accepted that he needed to approach her less aggressively but it would have been easier if she'd just followed his orders and left Jason alone. He wondered if all teenage girls were this big a pain in the ass or if Charlie was special.

"If you won't believe he's physically dangerous then at least believe heartbreak is easier on girls if you've kept your panties on. If you're hell bent on giving him a tumble then at least make him earn it. I bet he'll run the minute you start trying to soothe the scar tissue he has where his heart should be."

"Is this conversation over yet?"

"Promise me you'll make him answer three major but basic questions before you decide he's worth your... virtue."

"My virtue?"

"Shut up. You know what I mean. 'Why did he join the militia? Why did he leave? Why did he join the rebels?' Those aren't crazy questions, Charlie. They're very basic bits of his history that will tell you a lot about the man you're planning to boink. If he can't give you answers, that tells you something too."

Charlie let his words hang in the air without a response. He wasn't being unreasonable. It wasn't even bad advice. She was just afraid of the answers. Jason's unit had killed her father. Their entire meeting had been a set up to capture Miles. She only knew the broad outlines of the day he left the militia, but since he'd begged her for a place to go she suspected it had been more of an impulsive decision than a well thought out departure on moral grounds. She knew nothing of his life before he'd entered hers aside from an overheard conversation with his father when he admitted to killing and hurting people. She'd pushed that aside at the time, giving it the same "People Change" stamp she used to excuse whatever Miles had hidden in his past, but the switch from Militia to Rebel was recent and she knew nothing about how it had come about. She'd always felt safe around Jason and today she'd felt so much more, but he was such a blank slate he might as well have hatched from an egg fully grown.

As far a Charlie was concerned, his primary traits were bravery and devotion to her. He showered her in attention and, much like a camp shower, she splashed around in it for a few minutes and then went about her day without thinking much about it again. She reluctantly admitted to herself that she didn't know anything about him because she'd never cared to. Her lack of information was her own fault. He'd had sense enough not to share the details of his life with someone who barely listened to him.

She considered the possibility of ignoring Miles and diving into a Just For Sex relationship. She'd never had one. It seemed like more fun and less work than what Miles was asking her to do but she really didn't know how either path would end. She'd never had much at all in the way of relationships. Her brother, Danny, had been the only other young adult in their village for a few years now. Her last boyfriend had been 15 when they'd taken him three years ago. Danny would have been off to training years ago if it hadn't been for his asthma. She felt the tears welling up as she remembered Danny. As the sense of loss rose up to meet her she also thought of her father, Maggie, and so many other people she'd never see again. She needed someone to talk to and, while Miles was great at telling her what to do, he wasn't going to sit around and let her chat through her boy issues. She wasn't going to let him see her cry either.

"I'm going to bed," she said to Miles.

"Alone?" he asked.

"Alone."

A/N: Do you think Miles has a point? Feedback and CC are welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie's mind was still fuzzy when she reported to the central courtyard the next morning for duty assignments. Her brain had refused to settle last night and let her body get the sleep she still craved. She glanced at the chalkboard and, once she noticed there were no special assignments today, she decided to take whatever assignment came her way. It would almost certainly be patrol, food forage, or guard duty. The rebel soldiers now had enough friends and spouses with them who didn't want assignments outside the base that she rarely wound up cooking or cleaning. On another day she might try to swap for a good partner or a more interesting location, but today she just didn't care.

"Three minutes," Nora called over the low buzz of negotiations. The older woman gave Charlie an indecipherable smile. Charlie wondered what she'd heard and from who. She mulled over whether ignorance was bliss (as the saying went) or death (as Miles insisted) before forcing herself to approach Nora amid the bustle of the board.

"How are you? Anything to report?" Nora asked.

"There are so many ways to take that," Charlie replied.

"I've got your whole squad scheduled for as much of a recovery day as we can afford. You're foraging in the northwest quadrant. There are some old orchards and wild lettuces up there so you should be able to fill your bags fairly quickly. Can your stomach handle a day on horseback or is the hangover too bad for the bouncing?"

"I'm not as hungover as you think," Charlie said. She'd wondered herself at the lack of debilitating symptoms this morning. She could only conclude that she hadn't been as drunk last night as she'd let herself believe. Maybe she'd just used alcohol as an excuse to do things she'd wanted to do all along. Or maybe she'd been saved by the copious amounts of water she'd drunk when she'd been unable to sleep. She was bone tired, but the twin riders of hangover were missing. She wasn't cotton mouthed and didn't have a headache.

"One minute," Nora called out. "Whatever is on the board when the bell sounds is what you have for the day."

Jason loped over to Charlie with a smile. "You're with me," he said.

Jason cinched shut the top of the last saddle bag full of apples and double checked the clasps on all the packs before mounting his horse. He glanced at the sky, assessing the clouds before turning in the saddle to address Charlie who was still on the ground adjusting her stirrups. "Nice work. Not even noon and we're done. It looks like we have about two hours before the rain hits. It's not enough time to get back to base, unload and do a second run."

"Maybe three hours," Charlie answered. "We might make it."

"You think?"

"Or we might be told to stay inside the wire and scrub latrines," she admitted.

"We should take a lunch break before we go back."

"A long one," Charlie concurred.

"Saddle up. I know a place."

The clearing by the waterfall brought back memories of the first time they met. She remembered the initial rush of attraction she'd felt when she stumbled on him there. She recalled his not just his body, but his smile and realized how rarely she'd seen it since. She wondered if Nate, his spy identity, was a happier person than Jason.

Sunlight glinted off the water and the spray in the air made it cooler here than it had been on the trail. They dismounted and she settled in the horses while Jason unpacked what he'd brought for their lunch. She hoped it wasn't hard biscuits and jerkied mystery meat but knew to expect the worst. It was what the camp had in abundance and it wouldn't spoil on trail. At least they'd have a few of the apples they'd just picked and fresh water to go with it.

She gave her horse a final pat and turned to see that Jason had spread out an honest to goodness red checked picnic blanket. There was a round loaf of bread, still whole rather than cut into the thin slices they dried to make the hard travel bread. There was also what appeared to be a wedge of cheese and a small jar of strawberry preserves.

"How did you manage this?" she asked in awe.

"Some people collect rocks. I collect favors. I called one in. Do you like it?"

"I am thoroughly impressed."

"Impressed is good, but do you like it? Are you happy?"

"Yes," she answered, dropping to her knees beside him on the blanket. "I like it. Thank you." She brought her hand to his face and gently caressed his cheek. He leaned into her touch and smiled. His eyes were warm and kind as they searched her. Apparently satisfied with what he found, his smile widened and he said, "Let's eat."

The meal finished they lay side by side on the blanket listening to the splash of the waterfall and the trill of birdsong. Charlie tried to relax and enjoy the moment but Miles's questions nagged at her.

"Jason?" Charlie inquired. She let the word hanging in the air, its question mark blazing, waiting to see how he responded.

He turned to look at her and smiled. She felt his lack of a spoken response neither invited questions nor shut them down. She sensed he wouldn't refuse her if she pressed on, but he wasn't making it any easier either.

"Why were you with the Militia?" she asked.

He looked startled and wary as he asked, "Long version or short version?"

"What's the difference?"

"About two hours," he said. He studied the sky before continuing. "Those clouds look ready to pour on us. We should head back. Short version it is. I was conscripted when I was 14." With that, he walked to the edge of the clearing and began preparing the horses for the journey back to camp.

Charlie's mind chewed over the information and tried to make sense of it. Conscripted. She'd assumed he had volunteered. He'd been trusted with enough independence and freedom of movement to be a covert operative when they met. They'd counted on him to be loyal to Monroe and come back when he could have escaped. His father had been a member of the Militia; his mother lived in comfort in Philadelphia. Why was he conscripted? And 14!? He was 22 now. Eight years in the militia seemed like an impossibly long time. What had he done and how did he feel about it? Had it been a struggle the whole time?

Charlie watched as he adjusted the saddlebags and wondered what he'd transported for the Militia over the years. Food and weapons surely. Probably medicine. She'd heard rumors of drugs, the heads of their enemies for Monroe's collection, and stolen infants. She'd assumed they were mostly boogie man stories, put out to keep a discontented population in line. She could ask him for the truth, but then she'd have to live with the answers. He'd been so young when he'd joined the Militia that it seemed impossble that his moral fiber wasn't warped but he'd always seemed honorable to her. Who was this man?

Jason led the horses closer to her. "Ready to go?" he asked.

She ignored his question and carefully chose a few of her own. "Fourteen?" she asked.

"Fourteen," he confirmed.

"You didn't volunteer," she said her tone caught between a question and a statement.

"I didn't fight it either. I probably could have gotten out of it but once I had the opportunity to go, I went."

"I don't understand," she said.

Jason gave her a teasing smile. "That's because you're from Wisconsin. Everyone is a farmer there just like everyone is a soldier in Philly." He offered his hands to boost her into the saddle and said, "Let's get going before the rain catches us."

Instead of mounting the horse she clasped his hands in hers, gently running her thumbs over the backs of them and noting the bump of each bone and vein. The slightly leathery skin had calluses from hours spent working on weapons and a few light scars contrasted with the rest of his darker skin.

"Jason," she pleaded. "I don't understand and I need to understand."

Jason searched her eyes. She tried to convey interest, sincerity, and compassion in her gaze and hoped she hid her fear well. He took a deep breath and gave her a tight smile. This one didn't reach his eyes.

"My family joined the Monroe Republic when I was ten. At that time you were assigned to city defense instead of full Militia until you were sixteen. Since I was already serving if I'd fought the conscription I would probably have won. It was Jeremy, our neighbor, who drafted me anyway and he would have let me out if I'd asked to go before I started training. I never asked. I didn't want to go home. I was more afraid of what would happen at home than of getting beaten in training or killed by rebels or bandits."

He seemed ready to end the story there but Charlie couldn't let it go. Was disowning him and leaving him in the woods without food, water, or a weapon really not the worst thing Tom had ever done to Jason? Was it not even the first time he'd cast out his son?

"Why couldn't you go home?" she pressed.

"My father had been off on a six month campaign. Before he left he told me I was the man of the house and my job was to protect the women and keep them in line. You haven't met my mother, but lets just say she's not the type to take orders from a fourteen year old. My sister was 17. She had a full-time job and a finance. In her mind I was a kid. My father may have said I was in charge but it's not like I had any power over them."

He'd stopped speaking, whether lost in memory or debating how to continue, Charlie couldn't tell. She decided to push him on. "I didn't know you had a sister."

"I don't know if I still do. I haven't seen her since that night. Mother said she and her fiance left town two days after they found out I wasn't coming back." He looked at Charlie and her heart ached for him. She missed Danny but at least she knew what happened to him. It was awful, sharp and painful when it first happened and now refined to a low ache, but the not knowing while he'd been missing had been worse. Her mind had filled in her gaps in knowledge with horrors. Jason lived with both not knowing and abandonment.

"Anyway, when my father got back to town I'm sure he heard the rumors about my mom's affair with Monroe. I don't know if it was true or not, but knowing people were whispering about them had to hurt his pride. Then he noticed that my sister was pregnant. They started arguing when I was out and by the time I got home from school he was crazy. I walked in the door and he just started beating the hell out of me and screaming about how I'd failed to take care of them. I thought I was going to die. I guess Jen noticed this time was different from his usual discipline because she ran next door to get help. Jeremy outranked my father and had 50 pounds on him. He announced he was conscripting me and my father had no authority to beat a soldier not under his command. Jeremy carried me out of there and took me to the hospital. He told them there that I'd been drafted and wasn't allowed any visitors. When it was time to be discharged I just followed him. I worked highway patrol with him for the next four years."

"Highway patrol? With someone named Jeremy? Weren't you in your father's unit when we met?"

"Blame Miles," he answered. "My father was promoted and given his choice of men after Miles's failed coup. Guess who he requested?"

The rain progressed from the first fat drops to a soaking shower in less than a minute.

"Come on," he he yelled over the roar of the downpour. "I know another place."


	7. Chapter 7

The rain sheeted down, forcing them to slow as the horses sloshed in the rapidly deepening mud. Jason found the first turn easily and prayed he was right about the second.

"Off the horses," he called back to Charlie. "We'll have to walk from here."

The path had once been a mile long gravel driveway, but now it was a barely marked ridge between rutted washouts. Quick growing pine saplings obscured the edges of the road and Virginia Creeper vines covered the remains of the gravel. It was only by paying careful attention to the feeling of the road beneath his boots that he kept them on course.

Finally he spied a bit of white clapboard ahead of them in the forest and breathed a sigh of relief that he'd probably found the safe house where they could wait out the storm. The route in hadn't shown signs of recent use. So long as no one had forged a new path in from another direction they should be fine. As they moved closer he was able to see that the constantly encroaching vines hadn't been cut back or the paint touched up since the last time he'd done it eighteen months ago. It saddened him to have to acknowledge how many friends he'd lost. He wondered if he'd even have a single new note in the house. He knew it was better if he and Charlie didn't run into anyone, he was supposed to be dead after all, but sometimes he was lonely.

He heard Charlie's gasp behind him and cursed himself for not explaining sooner.

"It's fake," he called, not sure she could hear him over the drum of the rain.

She dropped the reins of her horse and began sprinting back down the path, away from him and away from the house. Damn. He'd have to chase her and that wasn't going to help calm her down.

"It's fake!" he screamed again, but she never broke her stride. She was making her escape with a burst of speed only panic could provide. He quickly lashed the horses to a nearby tree and cut through the woods. The old driveway was an "S" curve, so theoretically with her slowed by the overgrowth and washouts a direct shortcut through the woods should put him on the path ahead of her. It was the "theoretically" that worried him. Even if he could get ahead of her he wasn't sure how he'd convince her to listen to him, much less that the house was safe.

As he finally reconnected with the path he heard a ferocious barking from back in the direction of the house. The deep, angry notes chilled hm more than the rain. He didn't know if he was ahead of or behind Charlie, but after what had happened with Maggie he wasn't taking any chances with dogs. Charlie couldn't bear to kill dogs, couldn't sort out the difference between her childhood pet and the feral half-wolves that roamed the woods now, but the animals had no such sentimental qualms about her. They'd learned that a person alone in the forest often made an easy snack. The only question was if they were after Charlie or if they'd found some other prey.

The barking became fevered and Jason raced toward it as quickly as the slick, uneven ground permitted. He found Charlie up a tree with a pack of four mongrels trying to climb up after her. Jason calculated that the largest dog was still only leaping six feet off the ground and quickly climbed eight feet up his own tree before unholstering his gun. Charlie and the dogs didn't seem to have seen him yet, and he said a quick prayer that she had a good grip on the tree before firing off two warning shots. Charlie, pale and tight jawed, looked over at him, but the noise only seemed to make the dogs more determined to reach her.

Reluctantly he leveled the weapon and fired off six rapid shots. Two of the beasts fell still immediately. The third twitched briefly before succumbing. The fourth ran off into the woods. Charlie stared at him blankly from her perch in the tree. She was frighteningly still and pale, and he wondered if she was in shock.

He climbed down his tree and came over to stand under hers, checking to be sure the threat was neutralized before turning his attention to her, still clinging to her perch well off the ground. "It's fake," he called up to her again. "I swear to you it's fake. Come down and I'll explain."

"Give me your gun," she demanded.

He clicked on the safety and lifted it up to her. She reached down, careful not to lose her grip on the wet bark, and took it warily.

"Where's yours?" he asked.

"It fell."

It was then that he noticed the hole in the thigh of her pants. The rain washed away the blood as soon as it appeared, but the jagged three inch tracks in her skin needed attention. If the claw hadn't struck her holster first, the injury would have been severe. As it was, it was still problematic. They needed to get the wound dry and the bleeding stopped. Going to the house was now a matter of necessity rather than comfort.

He found her gun on the ground and passed it up as well insisting, "Down. Now."

She complied carefully. The adrenaline seemed to be wearing off, leaving her shaky.

"I saw the sign on the door. A huge Monroe M, circle and all. It said, 'Clearance G42 required. All others will be shot on sight.'"

"I know. I wrote it. It kept you from thinking this might be a good place to be, right? That's what it's supposed to do. G means the garage is unlocked. 42 is just a number some friends and I picked from a book when we set up these stopovers years ago. It's a place for a scout out on the road to spend the night safely."

"What?"

"Charlie who do you think planted all that self-seeding "wild" lettuce the squad picked this morning? It's there because it's close to a safe house. This place was picked as a safe house because it was off the main road and already had an orchard, a fireplace, and a good well."

When she still didn't move he continued on. "Scouts and spies travel alone, Charlie. They're just as likely to get attacked by bandits as anyone else alone on the road. Militia resupply policies suck if you don't have a captain along to insist they give you food without mold. Some friends and I set out a few insurance policies, like this place, on the routes we traveled a lot. We're near the border now. Lots of spy work in the area."

"Two hours ago you told me you were with the highway patrol and then you went to work for your dad. Now you're an international spy?" she accused.

"We kept trying to find the point where the Mathesons went over the border. Why any of you were still in the Monroe Republic is a mystery. Don't blame me because your family acted stupidly."

"Stupidly?!" she sputtered.

"If you're an enemy of the state then you fight it or leave it. You don't hang out and farm or open a bar. Miles and your dad wanted to be caught."

That shut down her accusations but the look on her face made Jason regret his words. She'd been pale before but now she looked near collapse and he couldn't tell if the problem was physical or emotional.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he was. Sorry she looked ready to pass out. Sorry the men in her family were morons. Sorry he hadn't tried harder to put the moves on her at lunch because it sure looked like his odds were shot now. If they'd just wrapped up in the blanket by the waterfall they could have skipped this part of the day.

"Let's get out of the rain and bandage your leg before you bleed to death," he said.

* * *

Charlie gritted her teeth and tried not to lean on Jason as they worked their way back to the house. Her torn skin ached with each step as it rubbed the shreds of her pants. It was disconcerting to see her own blood rise to the surface of the wound and then wash away as it mixed with the rain. Cold had seeped into her limbs and her body felt shaky.

She searched for signs of other humans in the area and prayed she wouldn't find any. Not only did she dearly want to trust Jason, despite what he'd just said about her dad and Miles, but she'd already been a Militia prisoner once and had no desire to repeat the experience, especially not when she was miles from where anyone would begin looking for her once they realized she was missing.

Her foot caught on the edge of a frost heaved rock on the road and she stumbled, unable to recover her balance. Only Jason's supporting arm around her saved her from a hard fall to the ground. She saw the horses ahead and knew that once she passed them she was out of escape options. She'd never be able to outrun him on foot. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to stay in the saddle as it was.

"If you want to ride out of here I won't stop you, but you're bleeding and shivering. It's a dumb choice," he said. "It's just a stupid clubhouse with a boogie man sign on it to scare off trespassers."

The large M sigil came into view, but she continued walking toward it. He led her around the corner of the house to a set of side by side roll up garage doors, one painted with a six foot tall Monroe M and the other bearing the same warning about G42 clearance. The paint job here looked sloppier, and it occurred to her that she'd never seen the Monroe logo with paint drips running from the bottom of the M. She also realized it had always been painted in white or black. This was a cheery yellow with occasional streaks of darker yellow, as if the paint hadn't been thoroughly mixed before the work began. Given that the militia's devotion to order and the appearance of it was one of the weaknesses the rebels exploited, this slipshod paint job was reassuring.

Jason grabbed the dull, flat handle in the center of the far door and gave it a hard twist. The metal squealed as the bolts unlatched.

"The door only goes halfway up," he warned as he bent to grab the lift plate at ground level. With a hard jerk he forced the door upward. It stopped, as he'd said it would, when it was only halfway up.

"Go in and then take my hand," he ordered.

"Why?"

"Because when I let go of the door it's going to close. It will be dark and you don't know where the door to the house is."

She ducked under and took his hand. Jason must have felt her trembling because he squeezed her hand and promised, "It really is fine." She caught a glimpse of a pick-up truck, now parked forever, before Jason too ducked into the garage and let go of the door. It fell shut with a crash and plunged them into darkness.

* * *

A/N: Chapter 8 is written. It just needs to be typed and proofed. This story will wrap up with Chapter 9 or 10. Thanks for your patience and support. Comments are appreciated and keep me motivated.


	8. Chapter 8

Jason wondered how many more times he'd have to save her before Charlie trusted him. Her ice cold fingers didn't grip his so much as tolerate his touch. He'd always avoided going too hard on her in training but now he wondered if that had been a mistake. Maybe she needed to see that he really could knock her out and haul her off at any time to fully appreciate that he hadn't. The worst thing he'd ever done to her was throw her off a train and that had been to save her life.

She just couldn't get over the Militia thing. He'd heard that units in the northwest part of the Republic, including her home state of Wisconsin, were more Mafia than military, but he was Philly based and for him it had just been police work until he'd gotten drug into trying to fix the mess her parents and uncle had made. Did he hold it against her that her parents had destroyed the world or that Miles had tried to overthrow the government he built? Sometimes he wondered if she was worth the trouble or the heartache of constant rejection but then she'd smile at him a certain way and the stupids would take over again. He knew this wasn't a healthy relationship but the highs were so high that he chose to ignore the rest of it.

"Put your other hand on the truck," he ordered.

"Got it."

"I need to get in front of you to get to the truck and find our way in. I may touch you or bump into you. Don't freak out."

"I don't freak out," she answered.

He heard the edge in her voice and grinned. If she didn't freak out then they had just taken that sprint through the woods up a tree for fun. Damn but he loved her brand of stubborn and crazy. He considered pressing her up against the truck and kissing her until her knees buckled, but decided against it. She was still bleeding from where the dog had scratched her, soaking wet, and shivering with cold and fear. Aggressive sensuality seemed doomed at the moment, but maybe he could get her mood adjusted.

He worked his was around her, brushing against her more than was absolutely necessary, and put his own hand on the truck.

"Keep your hand on the side of it and walk forward until you feel the headlight."

As they shuffled forward together in the dark, he stopped occasionally so she'd bump into him. He enjoyed the cheap thrill of her breasts against his back and he knew that for Charlie in a battle between annoyance and fear, annoyance would win. As he stopped for the third time he noted that her hand was warmer than it had been and her breaths, in between frustrated huffs, were less ragged.

"Feel the headlight?" he asked.

"I'd have to be standing where you are to do that."

"Now eight steps to the right and then two forward."

"What size steps?" she questioned.

"Just hold my hand and come one."

"This would be easier with light. We could have propped open the door."

"This would be easier alone. Should I have left you alone in the dark and opened the kitchen door myself?"

"If it would have been faster then yes!"

"Fine. Wait here," he said, dropping her hand.

Jason shuffled quickly to the right in the dark, overshooting his mark and banging right on into the hard edge of the workbench. He cursed softly while Charlie chuckled. He corrected his course and carefully moved forward until he softly kicked the front of the steps. He climbed the three steps quickly and threw open the door to the kitchen.

Storm dimmed light filtered through the three dirty kitchen windows before spilling in through the doorway to gently illuminate the garage. He watched the relief spread across Charlie's face as she took in the cluttered space, largely unchanged since the blackout. The blooming of her smile made him feel like a hero. Hey, heroes brought light to darkness, right?

"Come on in," he said. "I need to go take care of the horses."

* * *

As Charlie looked around the kitchen she couldn't help but think of her grandparents. The yellow paint and the faded rooster patterned wallpaper border made the room seem quaint and cozy. The toaster, coffee maker, and stand mixer were lined up side by side, probably just where they'd been 15 years ago. Someone had added a latch to the fridge, making it into an animal proof cabinet after it had stopped keeping food cool. The rectangular pine table in the corner had a plate full of candles and a book of matches in its center.

"You can look around while I put up the horses," Jason called as he walked out of the kitchen. Charlie quickly followed him into the living room.

He continued, pointed to a built in bookcase with doors covering the bottom half. "The first aid case is in that cabinet. There's a change of clothes in my room, but it's my size. There might still be some of Cassie's stuff here in the girls' room."

"How will I know which room is which?"

"You'll figure it out." And with that he threw the latch on the front door and was gone, back out into the rain. Charlie watched through the bay window as he disappeared into the forest and reappeared a few minutes later, leading both horses. The house was still and silent around her. When Jason and the horses had walked around the corner and out of view she decided to address the throbbing in her leg.

The first aid case was literally a case, an old hard-sided suitcase with a large white cross taped on the side. It was a well-stocked jumble, some old supplies from before the blackout, as well as washable bandages and handmade ointments in relabeled jars.

She quickly stripped off her soaked, torn pants and decided to enjoy the luxury of the old stuff while it was available. A few minutes later she took two long expired ibuprofen pills and smiled at her tidy, white, perfectly square bandage taped firmly in place. These days it was usually fabric strips and knots if you bothered with a bandage at all.

She began to explore the house, hoping that what she found backed up Jason's claim that this location was an unofficial safehouse and clubhouse used by his friends.

The first bedroom she found had once been an explosion of pink and ruffles. The canopy bed and unicorn pictures from the original owner remained on the wall. Her name, Olivia, was displayed in foot tall letters, each carefully painted a different pattern in a coordinated color palette. The six new occupants had added their names to the wall in marker. Their identifiers were surrounded by handwritten notes and drawings. In three cases the word "R.I.P." had been added. Cassie, the girl Jason said might have left clothes in her size, was the most recently deceased, her name marked with a death date from two years ago. Charlie rejected the idea of diving into the sea of pink to search for a dead woman's clothes.

The next room seemed to have belonged to a teenage boy and passed on to more of them. Posters of girls, most of them wearing almost nothing, covered the walls. The notes around the new occupants names on the wall seemed to largely be a series of jokes and insults eventually ending in a version of "that's the way your mom likes it." Again she saw names marked by "R.I.P." and wondered at the disturbingly high mortality rate of the occupants.

The bathroom had a large tub but no windows. A clothes drying rack had been placed in the bathtub but otherwise the room seemed unused.

At the end of the hall she found what had once been the master bedroom. "Jason" was written in foot tall bubble letters above the headboard. She noted the writing wasn't his. Someone had later added "slept here" and "with your mom" to the label. The "your mom" had been crossed out and replaced with "Kristen and Cassie" to now read "Jason slept here with Kristen and Cassie." Annoyance surged as she realized that Jason had brought her to his conquest lair and wondered if he thought he was going to bed her and literally notch his headboard. He was wrong and she didn't mind stealing his only set of dry clothes to punish him for his presumption.

She opened the top drawer of the dresser and found books, jars of food, and a small bag of diamonds. The middle drawer held arrows, a knife, and more books. In the bottom drawer she found a t-shirt and sweatpants. She dropped her wet clothes into a pile where they landed with a damp splat and patted dry with a towel she found draped on a chair. The pants were hopelessly large on her, but the Jason's t-shirt was comfortably well worn and long enough to provide some measure of modesty. She decided covering herself with a blanket would be a good next step, both warming her and hiding her now bare bottom. She had rejected the idea of ruining a nice snuggle in a dry blanket by adding wet clothes to the mix and crawled into bed and under the covers. She briefly fought to stay awake before remembering Miles's advice. "When you can safely rest, do it." They'd found an apparently safe, dry place to wait out the storm. She should use the time to recover.

She awoke a short time later to the sound of Jason pulling open the dresser drawer.

"Don't peek unless you want an eyeful," he warned.

She heard the wet thud of his clothes on the floor and decided to peek. The parts she'd seen before were as beautiful as she remembered and the parts that were new were all at least as good as expected, in some cases better. Solid muscles wrapped in golden skin made him look like a statue come to life. His bottom flexed as he pulled on his pants and she found herself staring at the flat plane of muscle on the closest cheek. It was definitely not a woman's rear end.

"You stole my shirt," he said crossing his arms to cover his erect nipples. His only clothes, the thin, gray athletic pants, hung low on his body, the elastic nearly gone, and threatened to slide all the way off at any moment.

"Who are Cassie and Kristen?" she asked.

"A friend and her wife," he answered.

"The wall says they slept here."

"The wall was written by perverts and is covered in half truths. It was January, viciously cold and given a choice between snuggling lesbians and freezing to death, I took the lesbians. I think Kris had a harder time with the decision than I did, but the possibility of losing your toes can make you do things you might otherwise skip." Charlie tried to keep her expression neutral as she considered this information.

"Scoot over," he ordered.

"Why?"

"Because I'm cold, you stole my shirt, and you're hogging the bed."

"What if I don't want to share?" she asked.

"Then go sleep in someone else's bed."

She reluctantly admitted to herself that he had a point and moved slightly to the middle. It was a queen size bed with plenty of room for both of them, and he could have easily walked to the other side, but somehow they'd gotten locked into a standoff.

Jason lifted the covers and climbed into bed beside her, trying to get as close to her as possible without getting so close she'd actually back away.

She glared at him and he attempted a stern look in reply but instead he found himself fighting laughter. She was stubborn and beautiful and crazy and if the wet pile of clothes on the floor was to be believed she was wearing nothing but his shirt. The only way she could look sexier is to somehow work a crossbow into the moment.

As Charlie watched the smile spread across his face she felt her pulse quicken. This was the Jason that made her breath catch. The amazing body was, well, amazing, but behind the soldier facade was a man with a sense of humor, a warm smile, and a deep well of concern for others.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked.

He almost blurted out, "You look good in my bed," but caught himself in time.

"You're OK," he said aloud. "At least I guess you are. How's the leg?"

"It's fine. I used one of the bandages in a paper wrapper."

"And did the band-aid make the booboo all better?" he cooed, his eyes teasing.

She laughed in response. People just a few years younger than them never got these sorts of jokes. Danny didn't remember band-aids at all.

"Are you warm yet?" he asked, his brow wrinkled as his eyes searched her face and found her still too pale.

"Getting there," she said.

"Let me feel your hand."

Charlie considered arguing and decided it wasn't worth the effort. She reached out and touched his cheek instead.

His eyes blew wide as he exclaimed, "Charlie you're still freezing. Come here. Let me warm you up."

When she didn't move, he slid across the bed to her and pulled her to him, both acutely aware of the narrow band at their navels where they pressed skin to skin as her shirt rode up and his pants slid down. She considered protesting but he was so wonderfully warm it made her realize just how cold and exhausted she was. The lack of sleep last night and the unpleasant adventure on the way here all crashed over her, leaving her spent and chilled. She decided to go back to being mad at him later, although she couldn't quite recall the reasons for her anger. For now she would snuggle into the warmth of his body as it pressed the length of hers and enjoy the security she felt in his arms. Charlie sighed as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

A/N: Only one chapter to go and I promise it's smutty.


	9. Chapter 9

Charlie awoke to find Jason's body, too hot and slightly sweaty, curled around her from behind. His arm was casually draped over her hip and his thumb brushed her navel. His deep, steady breathing told her he was asleep and she didn't want to wake him, but she was uncomfortably warm. She shifted, trying to put a bit of space between them, but he curled in tighter, his full palm caressing her stomach and sliding upwards, under her shirt and toward her ribcage. Her breath caught at the touch and its promise. She lay still for a bit longer, reading the notes that adorned the wall and mentally listing questions to ask later.

When she shifted her hips again, she felt his press into hers in response and heard a low moan from deep in his throat. A smile bloomed on her face as she realized the power she had over him even as he slept. She wiggled again just to feel his sleeping but excited response. She stilled after that, afraid of awakening him and ruining her game, but a few minutes later she felt his hand caress her hip and thigh and couldn't resist giving a slight grind to the lap pressed into her from behind. A low, needy sound escaped his lips and she felt the heat of his breath on the back of her neck.

She couldn't resist the game now, his moans empowering her as his hand roamed her body. When he slipped it under her shirt, she allowed it. The sounds he made, wanton and guttural, in response to each roll of her hips were like nothing she'd heard before and knowing she'd inspired them made her work harder to earn each one. Nothing but his thin cotton pants with their failing elastic kept their flesh apart and she wiggled up as often as down to keep from accidentally peeling them off of him.

She was aching with tension and shifted, lifting one knee. She felt his hand immediately slide along her inner thigh. He ground his hips insistently into her as he moaned, "Charlie."

"Are you awake?" she whispered.

He rolled her onto her back and settled his thighs between hers in one smooth motion. "Am I awake? I'd have to be dead not to wake up for that."

"Oh," she responded, biting her lower lip.

"You've been driving me wild for half an hour. It's my turn to return the favor."

He took the time to kiss the spot on her neck that he knew she liked but didn't linger there. There was too much of her body that he wanted to explore. They had privacy and a bed, a rare and luxurious combination, and he didn't intend to waste it.

His mouth moved to her nipples, hard pink buds of desire, and he adored one with his mouth before scraping it gently with his teeth. She arched her back off the bed in response and cried out, "Jason," her voice thick and ragged. He pressed a gentle kiss into her cleavage before moving on to her neglected nipple and getting the same response. He trailed kisses down her belly, stopping to slowly blow one hot breath onto her fevered skin. Again she cried out, "Jason," her voice wild and unsteady.

Quickly he moved back up the length of her body, his expression tense, and looked gently into the stormy blue of her eyes.

"Charlie, I love to hear you say my name, but if what you mean is 'stop' then you need to say 'stop' and I will."

Her hand came up to caress his cheek before threading into his hair. She said, "More."

The tension left his face, replaced by an exuberant smile. "More? Yeah, I can do more."

"More," she said.

Charlie winced as she mounted her horse. She hadn't thought about the long ride back to the base as they'd enjoyed the afternoon, but now she almost regretted their enthusiasm. Almost.

"What do we tell Miles when we get back?" she asked.

"We tell him you're insatiable and I need a day off to recover from what you did to me," he answered.

"Jason!"

He laughed in response. "We tell him we found somewhere to wait out the storm and then we came back as fast as we could."

"Do we try to get the same assignment tomorrow?" she asked, attempting to get comfortable in her saddle and failing.

"Let's do perimeter patrol," he answered. "The east border, near the well, has that stone bell tower. Four walls, a comfortable chair, and we won't have to ride horses to get there.

She smiled at the thought of the cool stone on her back as Jason pressed into her. Tomorrow.

A/N 1: I had to edit this chapter within an inch of its life to meet the rating guidelines for this site. If you're interested in and of age for the explicit version, it's on Archive Of Our Own in the Revolution fandom under the title "Riding Out the Storm." The title may not have been picked up by Google yet but the fandom is available without a log in.

A/N 2: Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me throughout this story. It's the first thing I've written in a while and my longest piece. I can't thank you enough for your comments and subscriptions.


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